


Might Like You Better

by BessTheKraken



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, not too many though, probably a bit dirty, with bad words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BessTheKraken/pseuds/BessTheKraken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years after the war, Draco's stuck in a downward spiral.  As far as he can tell, Hermione seems to be flying ever higher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might Like You Better

He had no idea how it had happened.  
It had been his second week of working for the Department of Mysteries- long enough to get over the shame of being the first Malfoy in generations to be forced to work, but not long enough for him to feel any sort of gratitude for the position. He knew what it was, and it wasn't charity.  
After nearly a year of house arrest during which first his mother, then his father were sentenced to Azkaban (her for a year, him for life) he had finally gone to trial. After weeks and weeks in front of the Wizengamot, Draco had been set free, but he couldn't work up any joy. The Malfoy fortune was gone. The Manor was still his, but after selling everything of value in an effort to support the massive estate, it was hardly homey. 

The DoM job was just that of a glorified paper-pusher. Nothing sensitive crossed his desk, and his so-called coworkers carefully avoided even speaking in front of him. As far as he could tell, the only reason he had the job at all was because it kept him conveniently under the Ministry's suspicious eye and tidily out of the way of vigilante justice for about eight hours a day. His salary was enough to support his basic needs, but it was hardly the life of luxury he was accustomed to. Because Malfoys were survivors above all, he had taken the position without protest, but he wasn't likely to kiss the Minister's feet in gratitude.  
The... thing had started on a Tuesday, obviously. But wrack his brains as he might, he couldn't say what had possessed him. Why had Hermione Granger caught his eye as he left for the day? Was it her self-assured air? The exquisitely tailored robes? Whatever it was, why on earth had he gone up to her?  
After he had spun her around by the shoulder, they had stood in the middle of the Atrium, staring at each other. He couldn't have said whose eyes were more filled with hatred- the fallen scion or the rising star's. So why had Granger grabbed his arm and Apparated them to her flat?  
Upon arriving in her living room, they had attacked each other. There was no other word for it. Clothing was shredded, shoes hurled at the opposing party. Then they had fucked.

Somehow, even more bafflingly, it had become a standing appointment. Every Tuesday he would find her in the Atrium and they would vanish together. Always to her place. At least that he understood- if there was anywhere in the country he suspected she would never visit, it would be the Manor.   
Each time was the same as the first- violent and somehow an indescribable relief. He would pull her hair and she would squeeze his balls. If she pinched his nipples, he bit her breast. When he bruised her neck, she left bloody scratches down his back.  
And, just in case anyone were in danger of forgetting how much they hated each other, they ended each evening the same.  
"Petty," she would spit at him while casting a "reparo" on her robes.  
He would shoot back with "Mudblood" before Disapparating to the empty halls of the Manor. They wouldn't speak again until the next Tuesday.  
It bothered him, that she had so many insults to hurl at him in response to his one.

"Mudblood."  
"Thoughtless."  
"Mudblood."  
"Racist."  
"Mudblood."  
"Bully."  
"Mudblood."  
"Shallow."

It made him feel slow, and her words ate at him in a way that he was sure "Mudblood" never did to her. They were true, after all.   
His was true as well, of course, but as the weeks passed, it seemed like less and less of an insult.  
It was probably three months into their bizarre arrangement that he tried something new. Surprisingly nervous, he dawdled over repairing his shredded robes and her contemptuous "Petty," went unanswered for the span of a heartbeat.  
"Slut." He didn't stay to see her reaction, but as he spun he caught a glimpse of her raised eyebrow.

The next Tuesday she wasn't in her usual place in the Atrium. He attempted a nonchalant circuit of the hall, but was forced to Apparate home when the security wizard frowned at him suspiciously.  
She wasn't there the following week either, but this time he caught sight of her in a group of friends, chatting gaily as they headed for the fireplaces. Weasley was on her right. The image of her head thrown back in laughter stayed with him as he Apparated home.  
So that was it then. It was just as well. His mother would be released soon and he was going to have to figure out how to tell her that they were going to have to sell the Manor. It wasn't a prospect he relished.  
Granger lingered on his mind as he settled in for the night, no matter how hard he tried to push the thought away. He supposed the abrupt termination of their meetings meant she had gotten whatever she wanted from them. Had he?  
He didn't know.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't sleep one night and that "Might like you better if we slept together" lyric (I looked it up- it's by someone named Amanda Blank) got stuck in my head. I don't exactly know what the point of this was, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! It's entirely unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.


End file.
